


Long live the Just ones

by HeleneOfFlowers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hurt, M/M, half plagiarised translation of Camus' "The just assassins", requited love but only in theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeleneOfFlowers/pseuds/HeleneOfFlowers
Summary: The Amis all knew Grantaire loved Enjolras and they all hurt to see him like this. With every passing day, the looming Revolution grew closer and Grantaire's misery grew more painful for all of them.Unfortunately, Justice is never mercyful to those who serve it.





	Long live the Just ones

**Author's Note:**

> This fic as well as the dialogue between Enjolras and Grantaire was heavily inspired/adapted from the dialogue between Dora and Kaliayev in Albert Camus' "The Just Assassins". I hope you enjoy it as much as something like that is possible when it comes to angst and my sad fics in general!

Paris had long fallen asleep when the meeting at the Café Musain came to an end. Tired to their bones but satisfied with their progress, with the _Revolution’s_ progress, the Amis were cleaning up behind them. There was no need to take presumptuous advantage of the generosity they had been gifted with. As the leader, Enjolras was still occupied with cleaning up his notes from the evening when Courfeyrac, his ever loving, ever trustworthy heart, took him by the arm. Courfeyrac, known for consistently having a clever saying on the tip of his tongue and a smile on his lips, was wearing a face overshadowed with seriousness and pain like Enjolras had seldom seen it in his friend. As their gazes met each other, there seemed to pass an unspoken conversation followed by a silent agreement between the two of them. With a simple look, Courfeyrac told Enjolras everything he wanted him to know. 

“Talk to him.” 

There was a sense of urgency, of need in Courfeyrac’s voice. One might have seen an order in this sentence, but Enjolras recognised it for what it truly was: A deeply necessary, long overdue advice not only from Courfeyrac but from their entire group of friends. Courfeyrac was only the messenger, finally pronouncing what they had all wanted to tell him for so long.  
As Courfeyrac met up with Combeferre who was waiting for him in the doorway, the latter gave Enjolras one last glance which appeared to say both “ _Don’t mess this up_ ” and “ _I believe in you_ ”.  
Enjolras knew that he should have done this a long time ago, that he had been stalling ever since he had realised the severity of the situation, but some evil, cowardly part buried deep within his soul whispered into his ear every day, every minute, every second that passed like a devil sitting on his shoulder. If he did not acknowledge what was happening, it would not become reality. Now, he had no other choice but to acknowledge it, to make it real, for if he didn’t, reality, the one he had never and could never deny, would suffer for it.  
The room was slowly emptying. Sandwiching Grantaire between the two of them, Bossuet and Joly were happy following Bahorel out the door. The four of them turned around when Enjolras’ voice called out. 

“Grantaire! Please stay, I need to talk to you.” 

The surprise in their faces was obvious as they exchanged glances. Even though Enjolras’ request was not expected, Joly and Bossuet immediately released Grantaire from their grasp, gently pushing him in Enjolras’ direction. Jehan and Feuilly, who had been the only ones still left in the room, quickly read the atmosphere and decided it was better to leave them alone. Gathering their papers and pens, they fled with the others. No one wanted to be left in the middle of the storm which Enjolras and Grantaire would irrevocably create if they were left alone, be it for the good or for the bad. 

“Well, great leader, in which manner have I dishonoured you this time, so severe you require my presence alone? I presume you want to spare me the public humiliation of scolding me in front of our friends. I appreciate your care for my feelings, but I assure you, I would have been able to take it.” Grantaire was slightly too light on his feet, leaning on a bottle he was resting on a table. His eyes carried the same drunken look Grantaire bore every time he decided to entertain himself with alcohol. He had drunk, which was already more than Enjolras would have ever tolerated during a meeting of the Amis under normal circumstances. On top of that, it appeared Grantaire hadn’t thought of limiting his drinking habit this very evening.  
Internally, Enjolras sighted. He would have preferred this conversation with the both of them sober. At least he would have felt like a better person who was not somewhat taking advantage of Grantaire and his less than clear mind and consciousness in this very moment.  
Enjolras took a seat. He could not feel himself carrying this now inevitable conversation while standing. 

“I did not request you to stay to scold you, Grantaire. While there are certain… ¬¬– Enjolras hesitated, glancing at the dark glass bottle Grantaire was still holding to lean against the table – habits of yours that I do not consider appropriate for such meetings, it is your choice alone to cloud your clear thoughts as well as the decision which poison you will use to do so. However, there is no denying your dedication to our cause considering your constant presence whenever the Amis meet up. Your verbal – once more Enjolras paused, looking for the right word to describe the situation without insulting Grantaire – disruptions only prove how close you pay attention to what we and more specifically, I, say. It would be naïve of me to expect everyone to see these issues and the possible solutions the same way I do.”

“If I’m not being punished for my brash behaviour, please, enlighten me: Why am I here?”

Enjolras took a deep breath. Grantaire’s were piercing through him like Patroclus had been by the spear of Euphorbus. It was to late to turn back now. He had to face reality, no matter how much he would have preferred not to. 

“I did not ask to speak to you so I could attack your moral or the help you bring our cause, Grantaire. However, I must tell you right away there is no denying the subject I must address is related to you and the justice we fight for by rallying ourselves. Believe me when I say your support is essential and the Amis wouldn’t be what we are today without you but even though all of us and most of all I rely on you, I cannot allow your presence within our ranks if you are here for the wrong reasons.”

“And what may these reasons be?” 

There was an edge of anger in Grantaire’s voice, one Enjolras had never heard before. When Grantaire complained about the naivety and childishness of the Amis’ belief, it had always been with mockery, like one talks to a child who thinks it is night simply because they close their eyes, not yet having understood the principle of truth independent of one’s own perception. Never in all these years they had known each other had Grantaire addressed him with anger. It had always seemed as if all the place in his body originally saved for a such an emotion had been taken up by erroneous joy. 

“I cannot let you risk your life and safety without fully believing in what we fight for, without believing in justice and freedom, love and compassion.”

“Do you truly think I do not believe in these ideals? That I do not believe in Justice? In Righteousness?” The bottle in Grantaire’s hand had left the table, swinging through the air, tightly gripped between his fingers as he used it to describe his point and anger more emotionally. 

“The things you have placed your trust in are not Justice and Righteousness, Grantaire! You are blinded by your own convictions and denial, too stubborn to realise the truth!”

“What do I believe in then? Enlighten me, if you know so much more about my course of thought and action!”

Grantaire had never raised his voice until now. It was terrifying to witness. 

“You only believe in me.”

Enjolras’ words cut through the air like a scythe trough reap wheat. Grantaire’s arms fell to his sides and his body into the nearest chair. It seemed as if Enjolras’ had made him lose all energy, as if he had taken all his energy like one let’s the air escape from a balloon. He stared blankly at Enjolras. He didn’t say a single word. 

“As much as it pains me to admit this, your feelings have not gone unnoticed, Grantaire. At first, I told myself time would work this out as it often does, and you would lose your misleading interest in me. I hoped you would focus your love on the People, on things worth fighting for. But my hopes were in vain and now you’re still here, discussing our rebellion with us, a rebellion you could very well die in, and all of that only for me. I cannot let you throw your life away like that.”

Grantaire seemed to think about what to say next, weighting his words carefully.

“You are a harsh man, Enjolras. Did anyone ever tell you that? You are harsh and hurtful and without love in your heart. Cold and hard like stone.”

Grantaire’s words were like poisoned arrows to Enjolras’ soul. He did not show how much the hurt him. He had to be strong. He had to convince Grantaire to give up, to live his life happy and to its fullest just as he deserved. 

“I have already told you what I am fighting for. Those who seek justice have no place in their soul for love. There is too much violence, too much blood. To seek justice is to sacrifice oneself, to live with the head held high, never taking the eyes from what’s worth fighting for. Love has no place in my heart. It would be nothing but a distraction.”

“I know you, Enjolras. I might have said that you’re without heart, incapable of feeling love, but I do not believe so. You said it yourself. If I did not believe in your love, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I love only the People.”

“You love the People, that is true. But it is a Love without boundaries, without support, a sorrowful Love as I have ever seen one. You love the People, but you do not share their life, always in your room or here at the Musain, always thinking of the best way to save them without knowing if they want to be saved. You have never asked them if your help is wanted, Enjolras. Do they know of your Love like you know of mine? Even if they do, they stay silent.”

“That’s what I’ve always done, Grantaire, and what I will do until the very end, until the People are free, or I have nothing else to give. No matter how hopeless the situation seems, the only thing I can show them to prove my love is my sacrifice, my ultimate willingness to save them even if it means my demise.”

“If you feel so, how can you deny me my desire to save you? Your love for France is absolute, but in this solitary and masochistic joy it gives you, you will burn for all eternity.”

“If that’s what it takes for the People to be free, I would gladly greet the Devil and beg him to let me enter Hell.”

There was a bottomless pit of sadness behind Grantaire’s eyes as he listened to Enjolras. It hurt them to see each other like this, hurt them like they had never been hurt before. 

“Have you never considered if Love could be anything else than this incessant monologue you call your life? If maybe, you deserve an answer from those you give everything to? Gratitude is not something undeserved by those who are ready to give their life for something.”

“Gratitude is what I hope for in death, Grantaire. Any sooner and it would be misplaced. There is too much to fight against, too much to denounce. Violence will not leave this Earth in my lifetime. Until every orphan has a home and every slave is freed, I cannot rest and cannot ask for thank. My life will stay a monologue for that’s my only purpose on this Earth.”

“And if there were no orphans, no misery to fight against, would you rest? Would you let yourself feel the love you deserve more than anyone else?”

As he fully realized the depth of Grantaire’s question, Enjolras gaze grew distant, as if he was staring into another world, a world no one had access to but him. There was a heavy silence between the two of them before Enjolras decided to speak again.

“I would wish for nothing more, but I believe I would not be able to. The rock that is my heart would have to suffer too greatly if it ever were to let itself melt for the love you dream of.”

“Would it hurt too much to simply try?”

“I am not sure I am ready to find out. What about you, Grantaire? You talk about love to be returned but you tell me so in full knowledge that your own feelings will not be reciprocated. How do you bear it?”

Grantaire chuckled lightly. He turned away his eyes, starring at the tips of his shoes. 

“I am more lover than fool, Enjolras. You said it yourself, I am ready to throw my life away for People I do not think deserve it.”

“Grantaire, when the moment comes…” There was a pause, filled with dread and hope and everything the evening had carried with them so far. Enjolras waited until Grantaire looked him in the eyes once more. “If the moment comes: Do not sacrifice yourself for a Justice you do not believe in.”

At these words, Grantaire’s lips curled into a smile, so light Enjolras would have missed it if he hadn’t known Grantaire so well. 

“Do not fret about justice, Enjolras. I believe in you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I you liked it, don't hesitate to leave kudo's or to tell me what you liked, either here or on my [Tumblr](http://helene-of-flowers.tumblr.com/welcome)! I love to talk to anyone who liked what I do, so please don't be shy!


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